


The Art of Collaboration

by oceaxe



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Other, Romance, between an alien and human, lil bit of politics, the art of being good for someone else, they get to know each other, venom drinks the beer for eddie, what does it mean for someone to be good for you, what is a symbiote anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: Venom tells Eddie that symbiotes make art. Much later, Eddie finds out what that means.(or, Venom makes itself nerve-endings and a limbic system. Things progress from there)





	The Art of Collaboration

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand thanks to Deinvati for the beta!

Petting Venom, while obviously both weird and pathetic, was comforting. It turned what could have been an alienating body horror experience into something like having a pet. Like having a dog--no. More like a snake. Or actually… an amphibious octopus. An amphibious, telepathic octopus. Who had mastered krav maga. 

Eventually, Eddie got used to his urges to pet, to stroke random stretches of the symbiote’s tendrils, to pat it when it was pooled on his belly. Whenever Venom’s head would hover in front of Eddie’s face, he couldn’t help but give it a rub, behind where its ears would be if it had them. 

As long as it wasn’t being an asshole. Or whining, for god’s sake. Sometimes Eddie wondered if the symbiote had been sent to Earth because its buddies couldn’t tolerate the constant complaining: **FOOD!** and **This is _dead!_** and **That’s too loud!** and **Meditation is stupid**! 

But other than tolerating the touch, Venom hadn’t given a reaction to it that Eddie could detect. Sometimes he wondered if Venom even had physical sensations, the way animals do. 

Which made this purring notable. 

**Don’t stop, Eddie.**

Eddie pulled his hand back, head cocked as he took in the approximation of a heavy-lidded gaze on Venom’s bizarre but now-familiar mien. Venom’s eyes narrowed, fixing Eddie with a demanding stare. 

**I said _don’t stop_. I’m enjoying this.**

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie said, shaken a little bit. “But actually, wait. I don’t get it. You’ve never--”

**Gave myself nerve endings.**

“You what now?”

Obviously, Eddie knew the symbiote had the ability to heal his body and its own, and that it could change its shape. But creating new parts for itself was a new trick. An impressive trick. 

Venom retracted its head, sinking the mass back under Eddie’s shoulder. 

**Nerve endings. I grew them.**

“You have… but how?” He didn’t wait for an explanation, because he knew he wouldn’t understand it. “ _Why?”_

**Because you have them, Eddie. Now I can feel things the way you do.**

“Did you also create a…”

**A limbic system? Yes, a rudimentary one. It will ramify and add complexity as it gets inputs. So like I said. Don’t stop.**

Eddie tentatively put his hand back on the place where Venom had partially subsumed back into his flesh. As soon as he began to stroke, the tendril thickened and swelled under his fingers, pulsing gently.

This time, Eddie felt it too. 

He could feel the smooth, sinuous strand with his fingertips, just slightly warmer than his own body, but he could also, underneath that, feel the strokes. It was disorienting. It was fascinating. He pressed harder, slower, and the strand flattened slightly. There was an edge of pain and a greater surge of pleasure, the kind that reminded Eddie of times when a lover would card their fingers over his scalp, scraping a little. 

“That’s… I can feel you, I mean--I can feel…” he trailed off, wishing that Venom would emerge again, let him look at its face while he integrated this. No sooner than thought, he felt a brace of tendrils coalesce around his shoulder, forming the familiar bulbous head and permanent grin. **You can feel that, hmmm? It’s good, is it not? I am very clever.**

“You put in pain receptors too,” Eddie said, not sure why he was surprised. 

**Yes. Potentially problematic, but nothing I cannot unmake if necessary.**

“But you already knew when I was in pain. I don’t get why you would--”

**I could sense your emotions before, in a rough way. Now I feel the sensation itself. It is good, Eddie, good for us to be in this together.**

Eddie kept stroking as the extrusion gained width, girth, as more filaments joined it. Now it was as wide as his forearm. Experimentally, he pinched it, not really sure what reaction he was hoping to get. 

Venom’s head recoiled, its eyes squinting for a moment. 

**Hmmmmm. Interesting. Do it harder.**

Eddie raised an eyebrow at his other. “You sure about that, big guy? Don’t want to hurt you,” he said, lightly mocking. 

**You cannot hurt me, Eddie Brock. I have your number.**

Eddie scoffed. “What does that mean? I don’t even know where you pick up these phrases.”

**The internet. Now do it again, harder.**

Eddie realized he was still absently stroking the fat, liquid lump on his arm, subconsciously enjoying the reverberation of mild pleasure that it produced. He gave a vicious pinch, grabbing a thick strand of goo that felt like it had tendons inside. All of Venom, both inside and out, gave a violent twitch, and Eddie yelped. 

Then sighed, as a burst of endorphins hit his system. 

**We like this. Did you know you liked this?**

Of course he knew he liked a little bit of pain. Stands to reason that a guy who taunts people for a living, gets up in their face and challenges their lies and self-serving bullshit, might actually enjoy a little roughness. Might like dishing it out _and_ taking it.

Eddie nodded and did it again. Venom growled and its face surged closer, nuzzling Eddie’s ear, its tongue flicking along the shell as it said, **More**. A graze of teeth punctuated this demand, turning it into an offer he couldn’t very well refuse.

Eddie felt like he was on the cusp of a roller coaster’s big descent, like he’d felt when he’d screamed “Dead end!” as their bike approached, well, a fucking dead end.

But Venom had just said, **Not for us** , and kept going. 

So Eddie kept going.

***

It hadn’t taken long before “more” turned into a _lot_ more. A lot more of Venom inside Eddie, in new and interesting ways. Ways that Venom said it found **satisfying** and **good** and Eddie found overwhelming, overpowering. Ways that doubled, tripled the feedback loop between them, turned their mingled nervous system into a jangling, screeching, seething, sweaty mess. 

Eddie didn’t honestly know how he felt about it, other than tired and spent. He blearily reached out for his phone in the dark and swiped the screen to see that their, uh, field day with Eddie’s various erogenous zones had lasted about six hours, give or take an unknown period of unconsciousness. 

Venom was incommunicado at the moment, a barely noticeable vibration in the background of Eddie’s awareness. Probably fried its homemade circuits, Eddie thought to himself as he put the phone down and for the first time since he and Venom had reunited, wished he had a little space. 

There had been so much sensation in their encounter just now, his body still buzzed faintly, like it had blown a fuse. He couldn’t imagine ever being aroused again. He thought of Anne, how the aftermath of their fucking had been sort of soft and glowy, not this totally drained and vacant state.

Eddie briefly wondered whether that limbic system Venom had supposedly created was even working. Because it sure didn’t feel like it.

***

In the morning, Eddie woke to a Venom curled around him like a vine, radiating warmth into every part it touched. He found himself smiling, then frowning. It didn’t usually manifest in the night, preferring to stay tucked up inside whatever internal organs were its favorites (Eddie hadn’t yet asked).

 **Your spleen** , Venom murmured. **And your heart.**

Speaking of hearts, Eddie’s tripped over at the sound of Venom’s voice rumbling in his ear. It sounded drowsy, not ravenous like it normally did after a twelve-hour fast. It sounded like Joel used to sound, tucked up behind him on cold, rainy mornings after they’d spent the night in the other’s bed. A thrum of contentment spilled through him, cycling back in a heady rush of approval. The parts of Venom touching him pulled closer, making him feel like a giant cat in the lap of something even larger, more cozy. 

The smell of coffee hit Eddie’s nose. “Mmmmmm,” he rumbled, turning over. “Need some of that.” Dimly he wondered who’d made it, then shook his head. “Did you--” 

**You move faster with coffee in you. We need food now.**

“Thanks,” Eddie said, hearing both the deflection away from the considerate action and the restrained desperation for fuel. “That was real neighborly of you.”

**Also, your morning breath is terrible. Coffee can only improve it.**

Eddie laughed as he levered himself out of bed. Venom had already subsided into his body, but he could feel it more strongly somehow, the humor that Eddie responded to reverberating within him and making him smile the whole time he picked out and poured his mug of joe. The coffee smelled really good this morning, he noticed, even though it was just the cheap pre-ground stuff Mrs. Chen sold in a garish yellow steel canister.

Tasted better than usual, too. Today might be a good day.

***

Eddie only realized how much he’d been banking on getting that stupid fucking Buzzfeed job when it didn’t come through. It’d been two months since Venom found him again, and he still hadn’t found steady work. He’s been kicking himself for turning down the network’s offer. He’d wanted to take it, and he’d been about to accept when the nightmare vision of Venom accidentally manifesting on live tv forced him to decline. His last major professional meltdown had been less than a year ago, there was just no way he could risk it. His career would never recover from a fuck-up of that magnitude.

Now, after lowering his sights again and again with no results, he couldn’t help but feel bitter.

A frisson of disgust… no, hurt, rippled through him before Venom’s voice boomed in his inner ear. 

**You let your fear deprive you of that job. I am not a fuck-up, Eddie.**

“I know, I know,” Eddie said placatingly, not wanting this to turn into a big deal. His regret was already threatening to swallow him whole; he didn’t need Venom’s emotions, or whatever they were, piling on. “That was before I really trusted you, though.”

**I am not to blame for your trust issues.**

Well, that was definitely true. He could put that down to Dad, to Joel, to his first boss who’d demanded “favors” for the good leads… but not to the alien co-pilot he’d acquired. 

Venom’s palpable displeasure receded as Eddie’s stroll through the wreckage of his personal life rambled on, through broken friendships and professional rivalries. A wave of sadness rolled through him and he tried to shake it off, getting up from the couch and shrugging on his hoodie. 

**You can do better than Buzzfeed.**

“Apparently I can’t,” Eddie growled. 

**Where are we going?**

He didn’t supply an answer, since he didn’t really know. He just needed to get moving. 

Past Mrs. Chen’s. Past the coffee shop. Past the restaurant where he’d defiled the lobster habitat (actually he had to cross the street for that one; despite Dr. Dan’s best efforts, the manager had gotten an RO on him).

He hopped on the BART and let it take him to what he used to think of his sanctuary. A place where human endeavor wasn’t soiled by the profit motive, where he wasn’t expected to be unearthing the sordid roots of seemingly innocuous actions. Sweet old Winifred at the counter winked at his expired card and gave him a free pass to the Magritte exhibition. At least his talent for making casual friends of all the ticket-takers, valets and security guards in the city hadn’t waned. 

It was maybe a little too easy for him to make friends, actually. As he trod a well-worn path to the exhibit hall, he thought about how easy it’d been to accommodate Venom’s supposedly alien presence in his head.

**I like this place. Lots of space.**

“Yeah,” Eddie replied, mumbling into the zipper of his hoodie. Venom was partially manifested in the front pockets, slinking stealthily between his fingers. It was warm, warmer than usual, and its presence in his head was warm as well. Almost… conciliatory. He realized he didn’t feel the same emptiness that had driven him from the apartment. Weird. It usually took a few hours of wandering here to achieve that effect. 

Trust. Given too easily, too easily taken away. He stood in front of [one of his favorite paintings.](https://www.sfmoma.org/artwork/2006.8)

**Pile of heads. This speaks to me.**

A burst of laughter rang out in the gallery and Eddie slapped his hand over his mouth. He could feel Venom’s smile, and it lit him up inside. There was no snideness, no sarcasm, just the wry acknowledgement of how things had changed for both of them, while staying the same. Venom would always want a pile of heads and Eddie would never let him have that. Eddie would always be kind of a mess in the head, always have a little voice pecking away at his sanity or willpower, and Venom would never let him be alone. 

He looked around the museum, seeing people’s heads turning away from him, having ID’d him as a loose cannon. He didn’t give a fuck. He and Venom were having a good time and not hurting anyone. He reached inside his pockets again, feeling the strength of the quickly forming fingers as they grasped his. 

They wandered together to the special exhibition, a collection of Magritte’s work. His eyes slid over a grey-suited man with a green apple hovering in front of his face. 

**Why does he not eat it?**

“It’s symbolism,” Eddie said, fondly rolling his eyes at his companion’s literalism.

They moved on, past several lesser works, and stood together in front [his favorite Magritte](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Empire_of_Light#/media/File:The_Empire_of_Light_Guggenheim.jpg), the silhouette of a house framed by tall trees, a solitary lamp highlighting the suffocating shadows, the dimness of the lights inside. Above, the clear blue heaven, platonically ideal clouds suspended in it.

“L’Empire Des Lumiere, one of three in a series painted between 1949 and 1954, conveys a feeling of being perpetually locked out of the glory of the world, oppressed and imprisoned in a dark reality, isolated and abandoned by the light,” read the placard next to the painting. 

**What is it, Eddie?**

Eddie became aware that tears were pricking in his eyes as he gazed at the darkness of the house against the luminous daytime sky. The surrealists had always seemed like a joke to him, facile and glib. Just playing around with impossibilities. But this wasn’t funny. 

**This resonates with you** , Venom said, sounding thoughtful.

“Not anymore,” Eddie said, sotto voce, to the crescent of Venom that had welled up under his shirt, near his collarbone, as he batted at his dumb eyes.

Again, he felt the smile all through him, in every cell. 

“Do you… do your people do things like this?” Eddie gestured at the walls. “You make art?”

**Yes. We make art.**

“What’s it like?”

Venom went strangely silent. 

**You’ll see. When it’s time** , it finally said. 

As they left the museum, hand in hand, Eddie realized he’d never even told Anne he liked to go here. They had never gone together, not here or any other museum, not even a gallery opening. In fact, most of their conversations revolved around what a pain in the ass he was, what a paragon she was to put up with him. Maybe that explained why, when she stalked off down the sidewalk after gently tucking his ring in his pocket, he’d just watched her go. 

***

They finally got a job. He did, Eddie meant. He got a job, and Venom threw a little bit of a tantrum when Eddie had to let him know that it was a “me” thing, not a “we” thing. The tantrum was horrifying even though it could have been much worse, because while Eddie was used to feeling guilty, simultaneously feeling all the righteous rage which caused the guilt was new. 

Turned out some things could get Venom even more riled than being denied living flesh. Being denied “we” time was apparently one of those things.

But Venom adjusted. In its own, inimitable way.

Its version of giving Eddie “me” time meant that it stopped itself from manifesting visibly or taking the wheel, but wasn’t really willing to stop talking to him in his head. All the time. In every conceivable situation. Up to and including interviews with wanna-be members of the Board of Supervisors. 

_Could you please be quiet for a just a minute?_ He mentally begged.

**It’s been 38 minutes and she still isn’t answering your questions. She is evasive. We should eat her.**

Venom was right, she wasn’t answering his questions. _Not eating her._ Much though he wished they could. 

**Ask about the housing crisis bond. Ask why she opposes it.**

“And about Proposition 1, Mrs. Bassan. You said that, and I quote, ‘promises of affordable homes for all is unrealistic and impractical.’ What did you mean by that?”

Her face froze, a clear sign that she knew there was no evading an answer.

 **Woo-hah, got you all in check** , Venom sang out in Eddie’s ear. Its Busta Rhymes impression was flawless. He didn’t restrain the grin that quirked his mouth.

“California is already overpopulated, Mr. Brock,” she replied, stiff and displeased. “If we keep building new housing-”

“Then fewer people will be homeless?”

She stared blankly at him. “We need to stop enabling street people and illegal and dangerous activities. Providing housing for those people will just encourage them to be degenerate. They suck up our natural resources and give nothing back.”

“And by ‘those people,’ you mean low-income people and people of color?”

“This interview is over.”

**Excellent. Now we can eat.**

**__** _Not yet._

“Is there anything to the rumors that you are in favor of permanent detention for homeless people?”

“I said it’s over, Mr. Brock!” Lou Ann’s voice screeched as she fled the room. Eddie nodded as he made his final notes. 

“Yeah, you’re over,” he muttered, and Venom laughed in his head.

**Fucking bitch will not get… what is the word?**

“Elected,” Eddie said, getting up and stuffing the notebook in his pocket as he headed for the stairway. The resonance of Venom’s laugh was vibrating through him, enhancing the giddiness he felt at exposing that Trump-supporting turd. 

The walk home in the unseasonal sunshine felt like a victory parade. Eddie sensed Venom swirling around his solar plexus, a liquid feeling like an internal massage.

 ***

“So, I guess that was a ‘we’ thing, after all,” he murmured, directing their path towards an Asian grocery that had tanks of live fish. A couple black bass for Venom, maybe some trout for himself to fry up. 

“When will you learn, Eddie. Everything is a ‘we’ thing,” Venom said, its deep voice richly satisfied, but not smug. Proud. Proud of itself, of Eddie. Of the two of them, acting in concert. Eddie felt like bursting into song, except he didn’t want to frighten the customers at the market and moreover, what the hell song would he burst into, anyway? 

**You need to listen to more music, Eddie. It suits us when we feel this way.**

“What way is that,” Eddie whispered under his breath, watching the silvery scales of the fish flashing in the fluorescent lights. 

**Like this** , Venom said, low and purring. **Happy.**

“So happy together,” Eddie sang softly. “I can’t see me loving nobody but you, for all my life.” 

His mouth went dry as he realized the song he’d burst into was a love song.

 _When you’re with me, baby, the skies’ll be blue,_ the lyrics continued in his head, the blue sky of the Magritte passing over his mind’s eye. _For all my life._

 

***

They got the fish safely home, still wriggling in their paper wrappers, and Venom devoured the live ones whole, leaving Eddie with nothing worse than the taste of sushi in his mouth. He fried up his own fish, the symbiote sated and quiescent for a while, leaving him to his thoughts.

The feelings reverberating between them in the market came back, along with the song lyrics, and Eddie let it all roll through him. A thread of panic appeared as he realized how intertwined the two of them were now. Venom was learning so much, was so attentive and truly considerate, in a way that confounded the simplistic descriptors “alien,” “symbiote,” “monster.” 

Symbiote. 

For all their jokes about parasites vs symbiotes, Eddie hadn’t ever actually looked up the meaning of the word. While the trout sizzled in the pan, he flicked his phone on and did a quick search.

Dictionary.com said “Symbiote: an organism living in a state of symbiosis.” Well, that wasn’t very fucking helpful. 

He clicked on a Wikipedia link. “Symbiosis - Arelationship of mutual benefit, especially among different species. A close, prolonged association between two or more organisms of different species that normally benefits both members. An interspecies cooperation.” 

Interspecies cooperation. That made sense. They were cooperating better and better these days. Figuring out how to accommodate the other. 

Then again, they’d been together for almost three months. _A close, prolonged association._

Eddie nodded, thoughtful, then put his phone down and went to turn the fish. It smelled fantastic. When was the last time he’d cooked for himself like this, before Venom had him going to places other than Mrs. Chen’s deli? He couldn’t remember.The months before Venom had arrived had been an interminable slog of instant noodles and pre-packaged sandwiches, languishing on the couch and feeling sorry for himself.

He was eating better these days, now that they’d branched out from tater tots and shitty dime-store chocolate. Getting out more. Lots of exercise. Physically, he felt good. Like, really good. Not to mention that he hadn’t felt lonely in… well, about three months, give or take. _Benefits both members_. 

He felt kind of stupid that it hadn’t clicked until Wikipedia put it together for him, but--well, he was an investigative journalist. He was trained to seek objective sources to verify his impressions. 

**You asked if we have art.**

Eddie jumped a little. Oil spattered on his wrist and a tentacle swirled out and around it, healing it with a delicate flourish. 

“Yeah? You said you’d tell me when it was time. Whatever that meant.”

**If you’re ready, I will show you.**

A thick tendril extruded from between Eddie’s shoulder blades, curving around and growing a head that regarded the fish as it sizzled and popped in the pan. 

“Can I eat first?” 

**Of course.**

Venom watched as Eddie ate, and made no commentary on the deadness of the food. Eddie could distantly feel that Venom didn’t like it and could more strongly feel how it restrained its own awareness of that fact. He let himself enjoy the fish and he felt Venom amplify that enjoyment above its own revulsion. Once he was done, he looked over to where Venom watched him, its white eyes conveying an emotion that could only be interpreted from the inside. 

It was hope.

**Our art is us.**

“Us,” Eddie repeated, his brain gaping like a fish out water, trying to grasp the concept. He shook his head and got up to go to the fridge, grabbing two beers, as always. 

A tendril reached out to flick both tops off, then--and unprecedentedly--took one of the bottles.

Eddie watched, transfixed, as the tendril expanded into a hand, an arm, bringing the bottle to black glossy lips that pursed around the opening, delicately sipping. 

**Ah, it is better on the tongue than in the liver.**

“Yeah, I imagine so,” Eddie said, grinning in spite of how confused he was, how overwhelmed. The pleasure from the taste was on his own tongue, even before he’d has a taste. He sipped his own, maintaining eye contact with Venom. “So, us. Art. Explain.”

Venom took another swig, and the sight of the beer bottle in juxtaposition to the giant hand wrapped around it, the glass neck so fragile, disappearing into that toothy maw, was maybe the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen. He couldn’t figure out why. It was just so… so human. Crazily, frighteningly, pointedly human.

**We transform each other, Eddie. You are terraforming me, I am elevating you. We create each other. It is what symbiotes do, it is our highest calling. Our art.**

Eddie could feel waves of some unnamable emotion coming from his other. There was pride, there was affection, and there was something else.

**We are close to the goal of our collaboration.**

“What’s that?” Eddie asked, voice hitching roughly.

**Union.**

Eddie closed his eyes and took a long drink of beer. He put it down, absently wiping his mouth, feeling the softness of his lips, not on his own hands but inside of Venom. Felt Venom feeling them, through his own hand. 

Venom’s bottle clinked on the table as its inky form subsided back into Eddie’s body.

**Go to the mirror.**

Eddie got up and walked to the full-length mirror on his bedroom door, Venom sliding around under his skin as he went. 

Look at this, Eddie.

He obeyed, looked at himself. Wrinkled jeans, stained hoodie, scruff, worry lines. “I don’t get it.”

Black tendrils snaked out, undoing his jeans. 

“Wait,” Eddie said, a sharp unease racing through him. He flashed back on the night Venom told him about the limbic system it had made, the sensations it wanted to share. The aftermath of that discovery, which had left him feeling bereft. 

**No,** Venom said. **Not for that. Just look.**

His jeans dropped open; he shimmied out of them and his underwear. The tendrils began lifting his shirt and he raised his arms. Tenderness came over him a memory surfaced, more a feeling than a thought, of being undressed for bed by his mother. The hoodie was drawn off and lay at his feet.

His gaze returned to the mirror, in which he stood naked, lit by the spilled-over light from the bathroom. His body was… shit, had he ever been in shape like this? He stood straight, his shoulders back. The skin of his face was taut, almost without lines. No smudges under his eyes, cheeks lean but glowing. He looked like he’d spent the last three months at a health spa. Or under a plastic surgeon’s knife. He certainly didn’t look like the down-and-out, exhausted and drained 40-year-old sad-sack he’d been when Venom had found him. He looked… good. 

He looked happy. 

“Let me see you,” Eddie said. 

Venom emanated from his pores, streaming around him in thousands of tiny filaments that interwove, making his body look like damask, or brocade. Eddie watched as they coalesced into larger threads, sinuously moving over his muscles, tracing them with shadows, making him look dangerous, threatening. 

Finally Venom engulfed him, the “mask" enclosing his head with a flourish of teeth, which assembled into a grin that had more expression in it that he’d seen before. The lips had more definition, the black shining skin was softer, the body more compact, leaner. The eyes had turned opalescent, swirling with color. Eddie knew without asking that the colors were Venom’s emotions. 

**I am you, and still myself. You are me, and still yourself. We are beautiful, Eddie. We made us, and we are beautiful.**

“When you chose to stay, you said it was me that changed your mind.”

**Yes.**

“Because of this?”

**I did not know how it would happen, but I knew it would. You are receptive, Eddie. You do not want to be alone. You needed something. You needed me.**

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed. He watched through Venom’s eyes as the black flesh parted and swirled around him, revealing and concealing his own body. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic--but more powerful still were the emotions suffusing him, an efflorescing current of admiration, pride, longing. Desire.

“I want this,” Eddie said. He didn’t have to explain what he wanted.

**You did not like it before.**

“No.” He didn’t have to elaborate on that, either, didn’t have to say that while his body had liked it--loved it, even--he had not.

**We should not have done that so soon. There is more than the physical to that act. I did not know then.**

“Things are different now.”

 **Yes** , Venom said, its voice a heated rumble. There was triumph in it, and relief. 

“Yes,” returned Eddie. “Yes.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lou Ann Bassan is a real person who is actually seeking a seat on the San Francisco Board of Governors and she has actually said the hateful things I wrote in this story. https://www.bassan4supervisor2018.com/issues
> 
> If you live in SF, please vote against this bitch!


End file.
